


The Hero Slays the Dragon

by ungrateful_sinner



Series: Original Works [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragons, Fantasy, Gen, Growing Up, I could have made this angst, You're Welcome, but i didn't, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14202999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungrateful_sinner/pseuds/ungrateful_sinner
Summary: “Let me tell you my tale!  Like most great stories, the hero slays the dragon!”





	The Hero Slays the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for class in under an hour.

_ “Let me tell you my tale!  Like most great stories, the hero slays the dragon!” _

He came from the fire.

The first thing he knew was the heat.  It was sweltering, boiling everything in the vicinity.  In the stifled, distorted air, he broke free from the shell that encased him.  He attempted to move, but fell. He didn’t try again. The one who created him would come.

She never did.

_ “I had never been a warrior, but when that  _ **_thing_ ** _ started circling our village, I knew I had to fight it.” _

Once he could properly walk, he went searching for his creator.  And he found her -- slain, with a sword buried in her skull. There would be no one to protect him.

But he was strong.  He taught himself to hunt.  The few creatures that could survive his fiery den were no match for his fangs and claws.  There were no real predators, but he grew fast and strong. It was an easy life, even if it was lonely.

_ “So I grabbed the family sword and went to what I thought would be my death.” _

He nearly fell to his death once.  But at the last minute, he spread his wings and soared.  He flew through passages he had been unable to reach, and for the first time, he saw the sky.  He landed, and noticed a pack of strange animals. They walked on two legs, and seemed to cover themselves with other materials.  They were interesting, so he watched. And when it was time to return to his den, he prayed that they would still be there.

_ “Oh, the beast nearly burnt me alive with its fiery breath!  But I managed to move just in time. And the fight began!” _

Within a full cycle of the moon, he had picked up on their dialect.  And how interesting it was! They spoke of heros and fairies and adventure!  But there was also talk of warmth and comfort. He wanted to join them, but some primal instinct told him to stay away.  That it was dangerous.

Until one day, through some divine miracle, he managed to will himself into their form.

His claws were replaced with hands, his tail completely gone.  It was natural, he knew. He could turn back at any time. And for one day, he could wander through their growing village.  He could listen to the stories with the rest instead of hiding.

Of course it was the day they told of the dragon’s defeat.

_ “Eventually, I tired it out.  And so I drove my blade through the monster’s skull!” _

Those words filled him with dread.  These things… They were what killed his creator!  His mother! And so he backed up, tears in his eyes.  The killer looked at him. Was he found out? He scrambled to get away, and the man excused himself to run after him.  No, no, NO! He was backed into a corner.

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!!!”

The man approached him like one would a wary animal.

“Hush now child, the beast has been slain!  It can’t hurt you!” He didn’t know. He didn’t know!  And now, the man was approaching. But he thought that the child was like him!  “Tell me boy, what is your name?” The boy didn’t have one -- he had never needed it.  But now the man was looking at him expectantly.

“Bolero,” he said, picking a word that he had overheard one of the women of the village say.  It was something from far away, she had said. And it sounded nice.

“Tell me then, Bolero, where is your mother?”

“Gone,” he mumbled, tears still in his eyes.

_ You killed her. _

The man, named Elias, took the boy in.  And even though he knew it was dangerous, he found himself enjoying it.  Here was a caretaker, someone who truly cared for him! It was a different type of living, full of hardships, but he was no longer lonely.  He got to talk to his caretaker, to help him out on the farm. And when he did a good job, the man would ruffle his hair. He liked that -- it made him feel wanted.  It reminded him that he had a family. And so Bolero and his father were happy.

_ I wanted to stay. _

Growing into a teenager brought changes both human and non-human.  When he brushed his hair one morning, he felt two bumps. And when he looked in the mirror, he saw a small pair of horns.   _ No _ .  That would be a giveaway of what he really was.  Bolero knew his father loved him. But he was a monster.  And monsters must fall to warriors.

That night, he pulled away from his father’s hand.  He said he felt ill, and didn’t want to spread the sickness.  He went to his room for the last time. When his father fell asleep, he reverted to his natural form for the first time in years.  And he flew away.

_ I’m sorry. _

He travelled many lands, switching between forms at will.  He grew from an awkward teen into a man. His horns went from nubs to a brilliant display.  Nobody questioned them -- he was well over six feet tall, and others had a fear of offending him.  However, those who cared to talk to him would learn that he was a gentle soul, incapable of harming unprovoked.  He never thought he would return.

_ “A tyrannical dragon has taken residence in the great mountain!” _

And yet he found himself returning to his old den to defend the very people that would want him dead.  The fight was no competition -- The newcomer was old and frail, and Bolero was young and fit. By the time the village had sent their best warrior (It was Elias, of course it was his father), the newcomer was already dead.  And so Bolero reverted to the form he had spent so many years in, and turned to the man who raised him.

“...I don’t want to die.” Still, he knelt on the ground, accepting his fate.  “But the hero has to slay the dragon, right?”

Elias -- his _ father _ \-- lifted his hand…

And ruffled his son’s hair.

“You already did.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't actually turned this in yet, so feedback would be highly appreciated!
> 
> (It's always appreciated, but this time it has a purpose other than stroking my ego).


End file.
